


O Saint September

by sakuraba



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Drabble, Fairy Tale Elements, Introspection, M/M, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 00:53:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20769803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuraba/pseuds/sakuraba
Summary: Not that Link supposes there are many princes around, these days.





	O Saint September

Link wakes with the sun.

On the pillow beside him, he sees Allen’s profile: angelic, bathed in dawn as it is, and younger in sleep than it’s ever been in waking. Younger, and more familiar. Like this, Link can almost pretend: could run a finger down the ridge of his nose, maybe, the swell of his lips. _Die Dornröschen, _lovely and fair, merely a kiss from some wayfaring prince away from resurrection. Not that Link supposes there are many princes around, these days.

Idly, he runs his hand across his own sternum, draws some makeshift cross against the bone there. _Resurrection_. He wonders how Allen would deal with this, this unholy revival – what twist of fate he’d use to burn up it all up to tatters and swan-down. He looks down at the needle-scars on his hands and thinks, with no particular emotion, _We can’t all be like you._

Speak of the devil and _Der Böse Fee_ suddenly stirs, that hair like spidersilk sluicing over the pillow. One eye crescents open, and– ah, there’s Nea, pulling a truly and comically grotesque countenance at him as soon as he can. Hard to mistake for Allen, if nothing else.

“I still haven’t been entirely convinced not to kill you, you know,” Nea reminds him. Unfettered, he looks more interested in making sure his pillow is effectively the fluffiest in continental Europe than carrying out any potential murder threats. Link watches him tug a blanket over half his head with a creeping sort of bemusement.

“Good morning,” he says. Best not to be baited; clipped and polite as ever. There’s a guilt to that (how many mornings had he greeted Allen like this?), and the chagrin of duty following suit. Emotion always has been such a messy state of affairs for people like him, much more suited to exorcists with their righteous impulsivity and their noble cause; that holiness they carry in their bodies brings with it proximity to death, and with that comes proximity to life. And Link, well–

Nea’s eyes narrow, unimpressed. “You can sit here all brooding and princely all you like,” he says, “but if you were trying to win me over like that, I'll be gone by morning.”

To a patisserie, no doubt. Link sighs and shakes his head, makes to pull his sheet aside and dress for the day now that Nea is awake. Still, something catches on his shadow, some slow and thoughtful dip in his lashes as his foot drags on the rug. The sun casts spires and landscapes onto the inn floor. “Princely,” he murmurs to the wool of the floor, “huh?”

**Author's Note:**

> one day i'll finally post something longer than 1k of all three of them kissing and the world will be good again


End file.
